


Four Nights

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares, Recreational Drug Use, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: Josh told Tyler once before he didn't mind they couldn't shed clothing as much as they would like. "As long as I get to sleep next to you every night, I'm happy." Moments like this, nights like tonight, Tyler wonders if Josh regrets saying such things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> translation into русский available: [Четыре ночи](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5707972) by [neighvael](https://ficbook.net/authors/418104)

"Nothing," he says, furiously shaking his head. The plastic bag in his hands is almost empty, crinkling as he fights to keep it open to stick in his fingers and pull out marshmallow after marshmallow. Miniature and melted together, four or five at a time go into his mouth. "It's nothing." He chomps and swallows and shoves another handful into his mouth.

Josh stares at him. Dark eyes, pouty lips, Josh's chest rises and falls at a steadily decreasing rate. "No," he says, and gives his own furious shake of the head. "Tyler, it wasn't _nothing_."

"Yes, it was. Said it was nothing. Therefore, it is nothing."

The van shakes as Josh shifts to lie on his stomach, elbows as props. "Shut up. Like, you woke me up. _Kicked me_. Probably gonna get a bruise." Josh stares again. "Not gonna judge you for having a bad dream, Ty."

Tyler eats more marshmallows, teeth hurting. His eyes burn, too, but that's from something else. "Just… _fucking_ ," he whispers. "Being eaten alive. Had to eat them first."

Josh can put two and two together. "All of them? Can't eat all of them."

"Watch me." Tyler tilts his head back, tips the bag, and Josh grabs the bag, a giant reach and tug to prevent Tyler from drowning.

"Shit," he hisses, and stuffs the bag under a pillow, no doubt forcing the small units to clutter and melt and glue. "Go back to sleep. Yeah? I'm here. I'll guard the, the—no—I'll be your bodyguard. Okay?" Josh nods, and Tyler nods with him. "No one can hurt you. I'm here. And I'm big and strong, and I will punch anyone or anything in the face." Josh shows his fists. "Got it?"

The blankets kept in the back are somewhat threadbare and smell like laundry detergent. They made it to a little town in Kentucky and found a laundromat next to a gas station. For every machine, there were three that were broken, and the man behind the counter said if they were able to fix them, they would have done so already. Tyler stood next to Josh with that bag of marshmallows and watched the blankets spin and spin. Soap suds spilled from the corners, but those were easily ignored. The dryer was too aggressive, and Tyler finds the corner shredded. Sticking his thumb through a hole, Tyler keeps his eyes on Josh, those dark eyes, and he glances down to Josh's mouth. "Got it."

"Come here, then." Josh's tone is down to a hush, edging Tyler forward with his voice and little finger waves. "You can cover your head with a blanket, so no one can see you."

Tyler does. The stripes on Josh's shirt disappear under here, but the fabric continues to be soft and yielding. Tyler's palm skids across Josh's stomach, feeling Josh's shocked inhale, his shaking exhale, and his stuttered sigh. He doesn't say anything else, just pulls the blanket tighter over Tyler's head, bunching it in his fist.

Josh meant the blanket as a shield to protect Tyler from monsters and the bogeyman, not as a shield to those who also loiter the van, stuck up front while Josh and Tyler dog pile in the back. Tyler is getting ideas with the blanket over his head, and Josh is sharing them, or at least becoming open to them. As Tyler's palm continues to rub back and forth on his stomach, Josh's hips twitch, toes curl, and knees bend the smallest amount. The fist once gripping the blankets move down below, gripping the hair at the top of Tyler's head. When the tips give the tiniest motion—scratching, pulling, _whatever_ —Tyler knows to go on, but to go on quietly. Even Tyler's quieter attempts are noisy, though with the blanket covering him, it might provide some discretion. Doubtful, Tyler concludes, as he's met eyes with his friends in the morning after nights like tonight and knew that they knew, or at least suspected, something happened. Tyler doesn't care. He still eases down Josh's boxers to his thighs and presses a small kiss to the curve of his stomach.

Nights like tonight don't happen often, much to Tyler's dismay. Josh told Tyler once before he didn't mind they couldn't shed clothing as much as they would like. "As long as I get to sleep next to you every night, I'm happy." Moments like this, nights like tonight, Tyler wonders if Josh regrets saying such things. He said Tyler's mouth transports him to another realm—but he said this only twice: while he's asleep and while he's high. All defenses dropped, vulnerable, Josh said it, and he's experiencing it now.

Tyler is slow, especially since they're in the company of friends. Up, then down, twisted onto his stomach and his neck bent at an angle, Tyler presses wet kiss after wet kiss to the underside of Josh's cock. It's calculated. Tyler knows Josh likes more tongue at the base and near the glans. Tyler knows to flatten his tongue and swipe it against the slit. And Tyler knows to quietly slurp up the pre-come, raise his head, and let it drip from his lips and land on Josh's genitals. Josh never had to tell Tyler this, considering how the first time Tyler dropped to his knees in front of Josh was after a show, buzzed on adrenaline and neglecting the nerves flying through him as if he were wired to a jumper cable. Josh didn't object. His eyes were wide, and his lips were a smile, and he almost rivaled Tyler for the lead singer position.

Josh's come in his mouth, coating his tongue, Tyler stood and brushed away the dirt from his jeans, and Josh awkwardly leaned in to kiss him. They hadn't kissed before then. Tyler got excited. He ran off stage, and he and Josh were celebrating, and then Tyler was opening pants, and Josh wasn't telling him to stop, and now they stood, in front of the other, Tyler with semen in his mouth and Josh feeling obligated to kiss him. Needless to say—but it's one of Tyler's favorite memories—Josh's lips immediately opened against Tyler's, and as soon as Tyler did the same, their chins were each painted with spunk and saliva, and Josh laughed. Josh laughed.

Josh grunts, fingers tight in Tyler's hair. That means _keep going_. That means _felt so good_. That means _I wish I could tell you how much I—_

Josh's teeth gnash together. Tyler's pace is the same—lazy almost. He's kissing Josh's cock, slowly turning the kisses into licks and lips forming that beloved _O_ shape as Tyler wraps them around the head of Josh's dick. Tentatively, with the tip of his tongue, Tyler laps at the glans; and, tentatively, with the tips of his fingers, Tyler strokes the base. Petting, Tyler doesn't wrap his fist around Josh's cock—not yet. He saves that for later, when Josh is nearing his climax, and if Tyler's jaw is sore, he lets the come spill onto his hand. They've gotten each other off with only their hands more times than their mouths; it's easier and less conspicuous when in a van full of other people. Blanket pulled up to their shoulders, they do it while others would sleep, wrists turning, lips parted, shaky breaths and only shaky breaths as free hands clap over mouths to keep it inside. Eye contact is important. Tyler feels safe when Josh stares at him.

If he wants to drag this out, Tyler nuzzles into the coarse hair at the base of Josh's cock and sticks out his tongue. The word best suited for this action is "groom", but even then Tyler doesn't feel like a cat. He's a boy sucking a dick, not a mama kitty brushing her kitten. Despite knowing he'll be spitting out pubes after the fact, Tyler enjoys it. Pubic hair holds pheromones. Tyler wants to spend all night down here, buried in Josh's scent and sweating out his own to be pumped full of Josh, Josh, Josh.

"Tyler," Josh chances. It's a whisper, casual. If someone hears, Josh just wants to talk to his best friend. They've talked for hours, for an entire night. This isn't new. Tyler acts natural. He pops his head from the blanket and raises his eyebrows. Josh is an angel. How he managed to sound so composed when he's so fucking _wrecked_ will be the eighth wonder of the world to Tyler. Josh doesn't say much else, just gets a better grip on Tyler's hair. Tyler knows what that means.

Back under the blanket, Tyler takes Josh's cock into his mouth until it's hitting his throat. Eyes wet, that familiar burn returning, Tyler holds Josh there, swallowing, his tongue working whatever it can comfortably taste. And so, Tyler begins the dangerous task of bobbing his head, of working Josh to his orgasm with the ever-growing fear of being found, of being watched, of being made fun of—but not because this is Tyler sucking Josh's dick. No, it's because this might be Tyler sucking Josh's dick _wrong_. Sure, Josh comes at the end, but is Tyler's technique bad? Does he look weird? What can he do to improve? These are the things Tyler worries about.

Really, it shouldn't matter. He takes Josh on a journey to another realm with his mouth, and that's enough for Tyler.

When Josh kisses him this time, Tyler has swallowed the semen in his mouth. It's hard to get down, but Josh takes a moment to collect himself. His chest rises and falls, and his breath sounds ragged as it leaves his nostrils. He sounds as if he's run a marathon, or woken from a terrible nightmare. They're okay.

Josh kisses Tyler, a hand to the back of Tyler's neck and another to his cheek. He's cradling Tyler, keeping him close, and Tyler's eyes have become fast pals with the burning and stinging. Soon, it overfills and stains his cheeks. He's crying. Tyler is crying, and Josh doesn't know what to do. He fixes his boxers and pulls Tyler to his chest. "Under the blanket," he says, and this time it's for an innocent reason. Josh is under the blanket with him, too. It's muggy, smelling of body odor, and yet Tyler burrows in Josh's armpit and lets the wet hair cup his cheek, his temple, as he clings to Josh and comes to terms with the possibility of someone, other than Josh, hearing him sob.

Tyler is shaking, sniffing, and having a hell of a time keeping it together. Josh rubs his back, his shoulders, and still doesn't know what to do. "Sleep," he suggests. "Remember: I'm your bodyguard."

Tyler holds Josh's hand.

"I'm your bodyguard," Josh whispers.

*

They're in the laundromat again. Tyler doesn't want to talk about it.

"Tyler," Josh says, but Tyler shakes his head and says, "It's nothing."

*

Tyler wakes up that morning and wishes he had not. Too bright, too obstructive, he need only groan for Josh to pull the blanket over his head and tell their friends they'll be sleeping in for a few more hours.

"Tyler isn't feeling well," Josh says, voice muffled. He places a pillow over Tyler's head, and it's a comforting pressure.

"Yeah, we—" someone starts, Mark, but he doesn't go on. He drifts, probably got a stare down from Josh, or he knows. Tyler tried to be quiet. It's impossible to be quiet when everything wants to come out and be heard.

"Just text us, okay? Or whatever. You can pick us up, and we can get Taco Bell." Michael, maybe—everything is running together. Tyler's eyes are shut, and he doesn't open them. He can't open them. Sleep takes him, holds him close, and sinks its teeth into his abdomen.

Tyler is thankful for not dreaming of marshmallows eating him, yet he would prefer that over the alternative. The alternative leaves him wet and groggy and on the receiving end of Josh's dark eyes. "Hey," Josh whispers, always whispering when they're in the back of the van. "It happens. Accidents happen."

Side by side, Tyler sits with legs spread and knees bent, head in his hands as he shakes and shakes. Thighs trembling and chest rattling, Tyler parts his lips and lets it all escape. Since they're alone, Tyler allows himself to cry and scream and decompose in front of Josh. Tyler is wet and groggy and now in Josh's arms.

"It's okay," Josh whispers, rubbing Tyler's shoulders and patting Tyler's back. "Accidents happen."

This is why they're in the laundromat again. Josh on his right, they watch the blankets and their clothes spin and spin and spin. Tyler's head hurts.

"Tyler," Josh tries, but Tyler closes his eyes.

They drove the van to a back alley, where Tyler felt safe enough to stand outside and undress. Josh was with him, holding clothes and a warm washcloth, and he washed Tyler and made sure he was clean before tying off the drawstring on a pair of loose sweatpants. "Gotta buy some water," Josh says, checklist already forming. "And, uh, some air freshener."

"And spray," Tyler adds quietly.

"And spray," Josh confirms.

Josh was wet, too, but he didn't need help getting clean—though Josh didn't freeze up. Josh didn't cry. Josh didn't cry. A purple bruise the size of Tyler's heel imprints to Josh's thigh. It looks painful. Josh didn't cry.

In the laundromat, Josh counted out quarters, and Tyler stuck them in the machine, and they're standing in front of the machines and watching the residue of Tyler's nightmares disappear. Tyler moves them to the dryer while Josh plays on his phone.

"I can pay for the smell-good stuff," Tyler says.

Josh stares at him, eyes on his boots and eyes on his runny nose. "Yeah," Josh says, "if it'll help you feel better."

"It will."

Josh nods and pockets his phone. "Okay."

They stop at Walmart and purchase two twenty-four packs of water, Lysol, Febreze, and strawberry air fresheners. Josh hangs them on the rear-view mirror after Tyler sprays down the van. It becomes an asthmatic disaster, but at least it's better than the smell of piss, piss, and more piss.

Back in the gas station parking lot with the tiny laundromat in the corner, Tyler and Josh push open all the windows and pull open all the doors. The late summer air is crisp and relaxing, and it circulates through the van. Josh leans against the side of it, fingers fiddling with the string on Tyler's hoodie, the other sucked up inside. "What about now?" he asks gently.

"It won't happen again," Tyler says, moving forward to be closer to Josh. Josh slides his feet along the concrete and lets Tyler stand between them. "Bad dream. I don't know what happened."

"That's okay, you know?" Josh furrows his brow. "You're okay."

"What if it happens again? What if the guys notice? What if—?"

"No," Josh says, and that's all Tyler needs. He leans in and presses his forehead to Josh's shoulder. Josh hugs him around the waist. It's all Tyler needs.

*

Mark is the one to comment on the smell. "I see how it is: You kick us out to clean. Do we really smell that bad? Could'a just told us."

Josh's hand is generous on the small of Tyler's back.

"I miss the smell of fast food," Michael sighs.

*

"Under here," Josh whispers. The blankets are soft and delicate on the nose. Snores play throughout the van. It lulls Tyler, who's propped on two pillows with the bag of marshmallows kept between his arm and side.

"No," he says. "I'm eating."

Josh sets his head on Tyler's stomach and closes his eyes. He listens to Tyler's stomach devour the rest of the marshmallows. "You're going to rot out your teeth," he says. "Gimme some."

"All out."

"Seriously?"

"No." Tyler digs out the last three marshmallows, stuck together, and holds it to Josh's lips. "This is it."

Josh eats, and Tyler shoves the empty wrappings under a pillow to be discovered later by someone who is not Tyler nor Josh.

"Under here," Josh is back to whispering. The streetlamp they're parked under makes it easier to see the wiggle of Josh's eyebrows and the upturned corner of his mouth.

Tyler slides further down, the pillows dislodging and offering no protection for his head any longer. Josh holds the blanket up for them to disappear, but Tyler shakes his head and loops his arm around Josh's torso. "No," he mouths, and Josh smiles and mouths, "Okay."

It's nothing special, yet it's everything to them. Every time they touch lips, it's as if they're being born again. Sharing a life-changing secret, tangled in a silk robe, when Tyler kisses Josh, it's as if the final puzzle piece clicks into place.

Josh is slow with him, especially after the events of today. His tongue is soothing along the cracks and bite marks on Tyler's lips, a lap here and a suck there. In the back of the van, they like to pretend they're separated from the others, allowed to do as they please, as loud as they please. They can kiss and fuck and love in the back of the van, but it's forced to be dialed to a zero. At a three now, verging on a four, Josh's face is in the crook of Tyler's neck, nibbling and breathing on a wet spot. Tyler shuts his eyes and lifts his hips from the flooring. Josh dips his hand beneath the covers and touches Tyler's chest, Tyler's stomach, Tyler's cock, and he squeezes and sucks on the side of Tyler's neck.

"Josh," Tyler murmurs.

"Hm?"

Tyler moves away and sits up briefly to shove off his boxers. Once he returns to lying on his back, Josh's hand is back in place, palm lathered with saliva. One by one, Josh wraps each finger around Tyler's cock, giving a short stroke before he's on Tyler's lips again.

"You want it like this?" Josh asks, too mouthy for his own good.

"Pull the blanket away. I wanna watch."

Josh does. Tyler raises onto his elbows and lowers his gaze. Much like Josh's own, neither of them have had the luxury of a proper bathroom. Not that either of them care, that is; Josh and Tyler don't mind how much body hair the other has. Tyler is jealous of Josh's knees, for instance, but Josh's knees are much different from his dick. Tyler prefers a close trim, or at least something resembling maintenance without being bald. On nights like tonight, Tyler is brought back to being an awkward teenager entering puberty and unsure of his body and what he's supposed to look like. He needed a Josh back then. He's thankful he has Josh now.

Josh lets go of Tyler's cock to weave his fingers in the patch of hair. Coarse and now wet, Josh's fingertips scratch and rub, and this action alone could bring Tyler to orgasm if done long enough. He fights the urge to tilt his head and close his eyes. Instead, he watches, just like he told Josh he wanted to do. Josh is watching Tyler, his fingers finding their way down to Tyler's testicles. Tyler's breath hitches, and then disappears entirely at the massage to his perineum. He does close his eyes then, and Josh kisses him. Deep and full of love, Tyler wants Josh to fuck him, but they can't do that tonight, not while there is snoring and no access to the proper precautions to have safe sex.

At their lips parting to change the angle of the kiss, Josh drags his hand to Tyler's dick. Fingers wrapping around once more, his tongue licking at Tyler's, Josh works his fist up and down the length of Tyler's cock, his thumb sliding along the slit and the pre-come on every third upstroke. Noisy and no doubt unpleasant to wake up to, Tyler leans his head on Josh's shoulder and realizes he doesn't care if someone were to find them. A stranger could walk past their van and see, and all Tyler would do is give a cheeky grin and a thumbs up. He blames this on Josh.

"You're such a good boy," he's whispering in Tyler's ear. "Such a good person. You needed this. You deserve this. You deserve this every week, every day. You need to be treated like royalty. Tyler—oh, Tyler."

Tyler's hips weakly twitch, and his cries are muffled by his hand as he reaches his climax. Over his groin, almost landing on his shirt, Tyler falls onto his back to regain his humility. Josh reaches for a roll of paper towels to clean him up. "That was hot," Josh says, and helps Tyler redress. "You're hot."

"Stop that."

Josh kisses him.

And so, they sleep, wrapped up in each other under the blankets while their heads remain above, a forehead pressed to a temple and lips parted and spread in faint smiles.

*

In the morning, Josh climbs into the front seat and drives them to a diner. Tyler said he wanted pancakes, so they're getting pancakes.

In the back with Tyler, Mark is on his phone. He texts Tyler, _You guys better get worn out from this show later because I do not want to hear you guys fucking again_.

Tyler's laughter is obnoxious. He claps and bends at the waist. Josh stares at him from the rear-view mirror, the strawberry air fresheners still so pungent, but Tyler is too far gone to notice.

*

Fans meet them after the show. Tyler is too wired to think correctly. He hugs too many boys and talks excitedly—mostly about Josh. "Good drumming, right? He's amazing. I couldn't have a better drummer. Or best friend."

Josh beams. The blush is indecipherable in the dark. From here, on Tyler's right, Josh looks beautiful.

They're all restless. They try to stay on their backs and go to sleep, but it's nigh impossible. Josh is on his stomach, playing with Tyler's fingers and talking about performing Madison Square Garden one day. The radio drones on and hides all mindless chatter, though Josh's voice is steady, and it grounds Tyler, keeps him center.

The van windows are cracked, but Michael rolls them up. Tyler doesn't notice; he's trained on Josh's dark eyes and pouty lips to notice the windows and the flick of a lighter.

He's so consumed in Josh he hardly cares to realize Josh is holding out a joint for him to take. "What?" Tyler furrows his brow. Josh's eyes are heavy-lidded and his lips formed in a grin. "No, I don't want it."

"Are you sure?" he asks, his tone only inquisitive and not subjecting to peer pressure.

"I'm sure."

Josh takes another hit before passing it up front. It's gone, replaced by giggles and smoke. Josh purses his lips, forms a little _O_ , and blows his exhale at Tyler's face. Tyler has been in Josh's vicinity while he's done this before. He closes his eyes and breathes in, knows what to do. Josh rests his head on Tyler's chest, sinking at Tyler's own exhale. Their friends are laughing over a stupid joke, and here are Josh and Tyler, holding hands and smiling over nothing.

It's another five minutes until the joint is with Josh. He takes three hits—one to blow out into the van to create a fog, one to aim at Tyler's face again, and another to hold in and release into Tyler's mouth. Tyler doesn't normally partake in activities such as this, but he isn't one to scold or narc. He likes hanging around his friends as they puff on joints and suck on bongs. Being in the same room as them makes his skin turn to static and his eyes burn an itching red. With Josh, when he's under an influence, he gets clingy, and the first time he got high in the presence of Tyler and their friends should have been a dead giveaway as to the status of their relationship.

Josh shot his exhale into Tyler's mouth then, too, though they tried not to kiss. Nearly impossible, their top lips touched, and Josh cupped his neck, and Tyler giggled and wanted Josh to lay down with him and watch the world fall apart.

Tyler wants to do that now. Their lips touch fully as Josh passes him the smoke. A tight seal, Josh's hands on Tyler's neck, Tyler's hands on Josh's shoulders, Tyler thinks he might suffocate if Josh doesn't pull away. Tyler doesn't mind suffocating.

They disconnect with wet lips and sighs, and Tyler watches in a haze as Josh rises onto his knees and gestures to whomever to give him a hit. He's on top of Tyler, hands to Tyler's neck, mouth to Tyler's mouth, and it's warm and fuzzy, and Tyler's whole body hums as Josh kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

Tyler hears more laughter and even some applause. Josh is still kissing him, moving down to pepper dry pecks down his neck, to a collarbone. He lies there, against the blankets that smell like laundry detergent and feel as soft as clouds. Josh's hair is made of dark curls that Tyler grabs onto to tell him something. No words escape. They don't need words. Josh knows what hair pulling means, and he works diligently. There's more laughter and now there's singing. The radio is turned up, and Josh is pulling down Tyler's jeans, stripping him of everything below the waist. Tyler spreads his legs, his grip loose on Josh's hair. He groans, head hitting the seating, and groans again at Josh taking his thighs and bending them toward his chest. Tyler means to protest, but all that comes out is "n'nugh", so Josh doesn't understand. He doesn't need to understand. Tyler's grip is tight now in his hair, and he gathers what saliva he can and spits it on Tyler's hole.

It's hard to see in the van. Sight isn't necessary. Tyler is sensitive enough without the added bonus of watching Josh's head bob. He squirms too much, but Josh moves with him. Turning his head this way and that, touching Tyler's thighs and Tyler's hips and failing at holding Tyler down, Josh's tongue never stops nor slows. Wide licks and short licks, kisses and spit, Josh makes Tyler forget they're in a van full of their friends. Tyler is loud and frantic. His whole body is electrified, twitching and stuttering, toes curling with his feet in the air. Tyler rocks and bounces and pulls Josh's hair. He can't form proper words. Everything that leaves his lips makes no sense when spoken, yet spoken they are. Like a baby and their parent engaging in a conversation, Tyler mumbles, and Josh responds to the best of his ability. His best is phenomenal.

A fine layer of sweat lines Tyler's skin after his hips take their final buck at his orgasm. He feels disgusting and grossed out and cherished all at once, and there's Josh, craning his neck to lap up all the come on Tyler's stomach. Tyler watches him, lazily pushing Josh's hair from his forehead. He's sweating, too.

"Love you," Tyler slurs.

"Dude," Mark says, eyes peering over the backseat. "Did you seriously just eat his ass?"

Josh smiles and passes Tyler his boxers. They get under the blanket with their heads covered and hold hands.

*

Sometime during the night, a window opens. Tyler hears birds chirp and idle conversation. Josh is awake already, Tyler burrowed into his armpit with no reason as to why. Josh is awake already, discussing what they should have for breakfast. Tyler quietly pipes, "Marshmallows," and Josh echoes it to the rest of the van, then adds, "It's more lunchtime, right? Let's get burgers."

They go to a dollar store first, and Tyler runs in to grab marshmallows. Small and pink, white, yellow, and green, Tyler knows they'll be melted together by the end of the day, when he gets to eat them. For now, they're kept in the back of the van, under a pillow. For now, Tyler is across from Josh as they sit in McDonald's. Tyler's leg is stretched on Josh's lap, mindful of the bruise still there. It's an ugly hue. Josh said it doesn't hurt, that Tyler shouldn't worry about it.

Josh holds out a fry for Tyler to take. He doesn't take it. He leans in and bites, chews, swallows. Josh laughs.

Tyler drives them to the next city, spending the night at a truck stop. They're able to shower. Tyler almost drops to his knees and kisses the ground. Instead, he smiles and declares he's first because he's the lead singer. No one denies him this luxury.

Dressed in warm clothing and kept under two blankets tonight, Tyler complains of Josh's cold feet as he settles down for bed. "Put on some socks, man," he says, and Josh listens to him. They're woolly and striped. Tyler hugs Josh.

"Need under the blanket?" Josh asks, not quite a whisper. The van doors are open, letting in the night air and the scent of gasoline and fast food. Booming laughter and the drop of spare change accompany it. Tyler presses his cheek to Josh's chest and listens to his favorite sound.

"I think I'll be okay," Tyler says, thoughtfully stitching on, "Haven't really remembered my dreams these past few nights."

Josh touches Tyler's hair, still damp. "I'll be here."

"I know you will be."

Josh smiles. "Because I'm your bodyguard, remember?"

Tyler smiles. "Because you're my bodyguard."


End file.
